Comfort The Disturbed (Version 1)
by insanechayne
Summary: The human version of my character, Torrey Marie White, along with two other OCs. The group finds Rick's group, and they band together for the long run. Daryl/OC romance fic
1. Long Day

**Comfort The Disturbed (Version 1)**

**Chapter 1: Long Day**

The doors to the church stood ajar, looking both inviting and dangerous. The sun was setting behind the fringe of trees surrounding the small, oddly placed building, and thus far it was the only place the group had seen for at least two miles.

"We're going to have to stop here for the night." Ricardo Rios spoke softly, his voice near a whisper, his eyes lazily scanning the perimeter. He was tired, and his body cried out for rest.

"I don't like the look of this place." Torrey Marie White, leader to the group, shook her head, her fiery red hair bobbing with her movements. Her body was aching, but she couldn't worry about that now; all she could think about was finding her group a safe place to bunk for the night.

"It's the only place around for miles, Tor." Monica White stifled a yawn, her mouth pulling down sharply at the corners. Monica wasn't Torrey's blood relative; Monica had adopted Torrey's last name when the world went to hell, choosing to forget her lost family in place of her new one.

"I know. But why would the door be open like that? Makes me wonder who else has been here recently." Torrey cautiously walked forward, despite her instinct's protest, her head swiveling around quickly to make sure there was no one else around. She unsheathed her machete, holding it poised in front of her as her eyes surveyed the inside of the church.

The pews were in their proper places, the windows unbroken, the statue of Christ staring out sadly over everything. It would be a safe place to camp for the night, provided they could seal the door and cover the windows. And, truth be told, Torrey felt safer in a church, as if God were watching over her family more closely if they were in one.

Torrey lowered her weapon, a signal to the others that everything was safe, and they all breathed a sigh of relief.

"Monica, Ricardo, start covering up as many windows as you can. We'll stack pews in front of them if we have to. I'll chain the door, and then come help you." Torrey nodded to her group, pulling the long string of chain from her bag as she spoke. They had learned long ago that rope could only stand so much force before it broke, but with the proper placement a chain could hold forever. She made sure the double doors were shut securely before intricately twisting the links over, under, and through the handles. She gave the door a tug, smiling when it barely moved, and snapped a small padlock into place on the twining links.

Torrey's small group had started carrying sheets with them wherever they went, just in case they came across a place like this church where they needed to cover the windows, and no wood was available. They managed to hang cloth from every window besides one. After struggling to pry the pews out of the floor and stack them in front of the window, everyone collapsed in a heap beside the wooden statue of Christ.

Ricardo lay back on the floor, his curly black hair splaying wildly around his face, and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, not quite ready to sleep, but definitely ready to wind down.

Torrey nudged him gently with the toe of her boot. "Gotta eat and drink something, hun. You need to keep your strength up." She pulled her backpack up onto her legs and rifled through the contents. A bright smile lit her features as she pulled out three bags of beef jerky, and one large can of corn. She handed a bag to each of her friends, laying hers aside so that she could remove the lid of the can with her switchblade. It wasn't the best meal they'd ever had, but it would keep them alive for a while longer.

The trio ate in comfortable silence, none of them quite sure of what to say. After living together for so long they had run out of things to talk about.

Torrey, finished with her food, wiped her hands on her dingy black jeans and gulped down some water from the gallon she'd been carrying with her. Everyone had their own gallon, but if one of them ran low the others would pitch in a little bit to help them make it through.

Monica, who had remained quiet since they entered the church, spoke in a hushed whisper. "Do you ever miss your families?" The question seemed to come out of nowhere, but one look into the girl's wide, brown eyes showed that her family was on her mind that night.

"I miss my mom, and my cat, but not my dad; not my brother, either, if I'm being honest. He was a douche." Ricardo answered as he fell back to the floor again, resting his hands behind his head.

Torrey patted Ricardo's abdomen affectionately, and took Monica's hand in her own. "You guys are my family." She smiled, but it didn't touch her eyes, not that the other two seemed to notice. Ricardo and Monica were the closest thing she'd had to a family even before the outbreak, but she didn't particularly like talking about that. She was truly lucky that she had them with her; she might have gone crazy from the loneliness of the apocalypse months ago if not for her friends.

"I miss mine." Monica's voice could barely be heard, it was so quiet and shaky. The stick-thin girl pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her tiny legs, and began to cry. The sobs were muffled because her face was pressed into her jeans, but they broke Torrey's heart just the same. Monica was more than Torrey's friend, she was Torrey's sister, by spirit rather than blood, which made their bond that much stronger.

Torrey inched over to her friend and pulled Monica into a gentle hug. "It's alright, Monica. They're in Heaven now, watching over you. They're keeping you safe, just like I am." Torrey laid her head on top of Monica's, letting the girl cry on her shoulder.

"I just want to be strong, like you. You take everything so calmly, like nothing ever affects you. I want to be like that." Monica shook her head, feeling inadequate.

"You are strong, honey. I act calm because that's how you both need me to be, but don't think for one second that I'm not a wreck inside over everything that's happened to us." Torrey rubbed soothing circles into Monica's shoulder, trying to comfort her.

Monica quieted after that, her eyes running dry fairly quickly. "Do you miss your family, Tor? Your real family, I mean."

Torrey bit her lip, thinking of the best way to answer. In the end, she chose to just be straight-forward. "No, I don't miss them, at least not all that much. My mom… well, you know how she was. She'd never survive this life, this world. Perhaps it's better that she's gone. And I honestly don't know where my dad is. I'm guessing he's still alive, though. No one's going to take him out but God Almighty, and until that day comes he'll fight for his life. But I don't miss him. He was hard on me, more than he should have been, and if he had been here with us I'm sure he would have weighed us down. Everything had to be his way, you know, and that way never got us very far when we were together, not even before all this happened to the world." Torrey closed her eyes, picturing her father's face distinctly behind her eyelids. She wondered vaguely if he had been able to shave his head, or if he had to just let it grow out now.

Silence fell over the group once more, the memories making everyone melancholy.

"Alright, guys, it's been a long day. Let's try to get some sleep. We've got to try to find a more permanent shelter tomorrow." Torrey squeezed Monica's shoulders and gave Ricardo another abdominal pat one more time before standing, and moving to a pew to bunk on for the night. It was nowhere near as comfortable as a bed would have been, but anything was better than the floor.


	2. Unity

**Chapter 2: Unity**

Torrey woke before the others, the sounds of birds singing nearby rousing her from sleep. She groggily rubbed her eyes and looked over at her friends. Ricardo lay in the same position he'd been in the night before: on the floor with his arms behind his head. Monica had had enough sense to move to one of the pews beside Torrey. They both looked so peaceful in sleep, and if you looked at them for a while you could almost forget the horror of the outside world.

Torrey stretched, popping her joints, her stiff muscles crying out in protest. She groaned softly before grabbing her machete, and heading toward the still-chained double doors at the front of the church. She quietly unlocked the padlock and unraveled the chain, tucking it away in her pack for later, and then headed out into the bright sun and uncomfortable heat of mid-morning.

It was common for Torrey to wake before the others and go on perimeter checks by herself. If they were all being honest, Torrey was the toughest out of all of them, and she could easily survive on her own; you never needed to worry about whether or not she'd be coming back to camp. On top of her fighting demeanor, she had the most survival and combat training of the three; she had even taught her friends to use their weapons on walkers, and how to fight against humans. Monica especially needed all the help she could get, considering she had only about ninety pounds on her when she was soaking wet, and even less when she was dry.

Torrey walked slowly around the church, staring out over the flat terrain to look for anything in the distance. It was the forest that had to worry about more than anything, but at the moment it wasn't necessary for anyone to go rummaging around in the bushes. With everything as safe and sound as it would have been before the apocalypse, Torrey returned to her friends.

Monica was awake when Torrey entered. She gave the redhead a soft smile, which Torrey returned with one much brighter. "Good morning." Monica spoke quietly, not wanting to wake Ricardo before Torrey gave the okay to do so.

"Morning, hun. Sleep alright?" Torrey plopped down beside the small girl on the pew, resting her arms across the back.

Monica yawned as she nodded, and shook her long black hair out. "Man, what I wouldn't give for a hairbrush. This beast on my head is going to devour me if it gets any more unruly." Monica's made a face that could only be described as 'I'm so done' as she tried to gather her hair into a workable ponytail.

Torrey laughed and patted the girl's shoulder. "I'll see what I can find on our next run. Maybe I'll be able to find a pair of scissors, too, so we can cut that creature." She twirled a finger around a strand of Monica's hair, smirking as she did so. Even before the apocalypse happened Monica had complained about her hair, constantly saying it was going to smother her to death in her sleep; now, though, she didn't seem too far off.

Monica swatted the redhead's hand away with a scowl, sliding a few inches over on the bench.

Torrey rolled her eyes and stood once more, going over to Ricardo and nudging his side with the toe of her boot. "C'mon, sleeping beauty, we got shit to do today."

Ricardo grumbled and rolled away from Torrey. She knew he needed the rest, but they needed to find a real shelter more; he could sleep when they were in a house, or other building, locked in with supplies to last them a while; he could sleep when they were safe.

Torrey pulled a lighter out of her pocket and stooped forward, deftly lighting Ricardo's exposed leg hair on fire. With a start he sprang up, smacking at his leg, while the two girls beside him laughed hysterically.

"You're a bitch, and I hate you." He mumbled, glaring up at the redhead with contempt.

"Then leave and go on your own. I won't stop you, and I doubt that Monica would either." Torrey shrugged and turned away from her friend, making sure that all their belongings were packed up and ready to go.

Ricardo said something under his breath, and reluctantly got to his feet, brushing the church's dust off his clothes.

"We're gonna have to wander around for a bit longer, try to find a farm house or a cabin if we can. I heard there used to be some of them around here, owned by Thoreaux wannabes, and passed down from farmer fathers to sons throughout the generations. Hopefully we'll be able to get one around here that's been abandoned." Torrey spoke as she hoisted her pack onto her shoulders. "There's still some jerky left, and plenty of bottled water for the time being. We can eat while we travel. Let's head out."

It took them about two hours to track it down, but they finally managed to find the one farm house around for a few miles. They broke through a fringe of trees and there it stood amidst a sea of waving grassland and open field. It would be at least another half mile before they reached it, but from that distance they could still make out some large trees beside the house, a barn off to one side, and what appeared to be a horse stable off to another. It was most likely a two story, or at least it looked big enough to be one. As Torrey's group got closer they could see a few people milling about on the porch.

"Well, it's not abandoned, but maybe they'll be kind enough to let us in, anyway. Survivors gotta stick together, right?" Torrey tried to give a reassuring smile to her compatriots, but she was as nervous as they were. People hadn't been half as kind before the world fell to hell, and now that it had they would probably be even more cautious.

After what seemed like an eternity, the group made it to the fence that surrounded the property. Torrey was about to wave, perhaps even call a friendly greeting to the others, but before she could do anything a tall man with a shaved head leapt over the porch, shotgun in hand, and sprinted toward them. He raised the gun, pointing it straight at Torrey, and shouted something she couldn't quite understand.

Instinct took over the trio of friends, and Torrey instantly drew the Glock from its holster on her side. It wouldn't do as much damage as a shotgun, but she was a damn good shot, and could probably get him between the eyes before he could squeeze the trigger. Monica and Ricardo both pulled out their pieces, aiming them at the middle of the man's chest; neither was as good a shot as their redhead leader was, so they aimed for something they could hit more easily.

The stranger skidded to a stop a few feet from the fence, his eyes angry and hard, shotgun still trained on Torrey. "Drop 'em, now."

"Only if you drop yours." Torrey's voice became harsh and venomous, her eyes locked on her target.

"Shane!" A sharp voice called from the front door of the house. Torrey's green eyes flickered toward the house as Shane turned his head just enough to see who had spoken. The man in the doorway looked pale and weak, and it had probably taken all his strength just to shout loud enough to be heard from that distance.

"Go back inside, Rick. I've got this covered." Shane turned back to the trio before him, cocking his shotgun.

"No, Shane, put the damn gun down. Hershel decides who comes on his property, not you." Rick leaned his shoulder against the door frame, looking barely able to hold himself up. "Hershel?" He called into the house.

A few seconds later an older man with pure white hair appeared beside Rick. The older man put a hand on Rick's shoulder. "I'll handle it, Rick. Go back in and be with your boy." Rick nodded weakly and stumbled back into the house as Hershel made his way over to the fence where Shane and Torrey's group were still in a standoff.

"Shane, please put the gun down. That's no way to welcome new survivors." Hershel gave Shane a stern look, patting his arm.

Shane glared at Hershel for a moment, then huffed his anger out and dropped the gun to his side. Torrey lowered her gun, her eyes on Hershel, and the others did the same, their eyes never leaving Shane.

"What's your name, young lady?" Hershel stepped forward, giving Torrey a guarded smile.

"Torrey Marie White, sir. I take it you're Hershel?" She extended her right hand to shake the older gentleman's. He accepted, taking her hand in his and giving it a gentle shake.

"Yes, I am."


	3. A Welcome Burden

**Chapter 3: A Welcome Burden**

Hershel allowed Torrey's group into his home, escorting them to the dining room table so they could sit and talk amiably.

"I take it none of you are from Rick's group?" Hershel sat at the head of the table, his eyes flickering to each of his young guests in turn.

"No, sir." Torrey spoke politely, not wanting to upset Hershel or think them a bunch of rude hooligans. "We're our own small group. We live nomadically, at the moment."

Hershel nodded, contemplating what to do. "I suppose you came here looking for shelter?"

"That's right. We didn't know this area was already occupied until we got closer to the house. Had we known we probably wouldn't have even approached."

"Well, I think we can afford to help you out for a few days. Seems to me it'd be rude to turn you away when we've already accepted so many others in the first place. There are some rooms upstairs you can sleep in. I'll have Maggie get you all some food." Hershel smiled tentatively at the group before rising and leaving the room.

After a moment a young woman swept into the room, setting three plates on the table in front of the trio of nomads. "Hope y'all like ham sandwiches. We don't really have much else." She gave them a sheepish grin, and turned to get them some water.

Torrey gifted the girl with a warm smile when she re-entered. "Ham sandwiches are great. Thank you for your hospitality. What's your name?"

"Maggie. If you need anything else you can just holler for me. What can I call all of you?" Maggie rested one hand against the tabletop, leaning into it casually.

"I'm Torrey, and this is Monica, and Ricardo." Torrey gestured to herself and her friends in turn. Monica gave a polite nod to Maggie, quietly picking at the chips Maggie had stacked beside the sandwich. Ricardo looked up, his mouth full of food, and gave her a two-finger salute before returning to the sandwich. Maggie giggled at that, and Torrey rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, he's a rude little shit."

"S'alright. Figured y'all would be hungry after bein' in the woods so long. I'll leave y'all alone for a while." Maggie turned and left quickly, leaving the group in silence once more.

"Were you raised in a barn?" Torrey leveled Ricardo with a glare, which he returned.

"Of course I was, right next to the cows." Ricardo smirked, taking a bite of sandwich as he continued to stare at Torrey.

Torrey grimaced, but had to stifle a laugh, and shook her head.

Hershel and Maggie had been kind enough to let Torrey's trio use the showers, and lend them some clean clothes while theirs were being washed. Carol, one of the members of Rick's group, had offered to wash the trio's clothes with her own group's, and the three had gratefully accepted.

Feeling more refreshed than they had in weeks, they went off to find Hershel. He was sitting in one of the rooms off the front hall with Rick, the man Torrey had seen in the doorway earlier, and a tall woman with long, wavy brown hair and soft hazel eyes. She was almost as skinny as Monica, and her clothes hung loosely on her, as if they were a size too big.

Torrey knocked softly on the open door, her friends standing close behind her, and all three pairs of eyes snapped up to look at her. As Hershel turned, she could see a small boy lying unconscious on the only bed in the room, a large piece of gauze taped to his right side. She shifted her attention from the child, knowing it would be rude to stare, to Hershel's gently lined face.

"Would you mind if my friends and I walked the perimeter? The land here is beautiful, and it'd be a much better sight than the forest we've been accustomed to."

Hershel simply nodded before turning back to the bed. The brunette woman looked back down to the child, as well, but Rick's eyes stayed locked on Torrey's. "Why don't you go say hello to my group? Make some friends. I'm sure they'd all be happy to meet some new people."

"We'll be sure to stop by." Torrey smiled, feeling a little bit awkward, before leaving the room

Once outside, they turned right, strolling through the grass under the shade of one of the large trees in the front yard. Parked far away from the house was an RV, and tents surrounded the vehicle. Carol stood at a makeshift clothesline, hanging out the washed clothes to dry in the sun.

"Let's go make some friends, kids." Torrey smirked, leading her group over to the camp set-up that the others were milling around.

As they approached they could make out details of each person there. On top of the RV was an older man, probably in his sixties, sitting in a lawn chair. A hunting rifle hung from a strap on his shoulder, and he was holding a pair of binoculars up to his eyes. He was wearing a faded Hawaiian t-shirt and a floppy fisherman's hat. Sitting on a crate pushed up against the side of the RV was a blonde woman toying with a 9mm. It looked like she was taking it apart and trying to put it back together again. There was a mixed look of sadness and concentration on her face, and her white and gray striped shirt was streaked with dust. Off to one side a heavy-set black man and a young Asian man in a ball-cap were discussing something intently with Maggie.

Torrey wandered in Carol's direction, figuring it would be easier to talk to someone they were already somewhat familiar with before branching out to the others. Monica and Ricardo were still following her, so Torrey gave them a nod to tell them to disperse; they quickly walked away.

The woman's soft eyes met Torrey's with kindness, and a soft smile lit her features. The wind tussled her short salt and pepper hair, giving her an almost carefree look.

"Would you like some help?" Torrey asked, looking at the large pile of clothes that still needed to be pinned to the line.

"That would be great, thank you." Carol responded, stooping to pick up a light pink shirt.

"It's really peaceful out here, almost like it's detached from everything else that's going on in the world right now." Torrey held two clothespins between her lips as she positioned a pair of khaki's on the thin piece of wire.

"Like our own private safe haven." Carol's words were agreeable, but her expression was despairing. There was something in her eyes that made her look like her soul was burning in her chest. Torrey felt her chest tightened, seeing a fellow survivor looking so despairing.

"Is everything alright, Carol?" Torrey kept her voice just slightly above a whisper.

Carol sighed, fingering the fabric of the garment in her hands, before she finally answered, "Not really."

"May I ask what's bothering you?"

"My daughter, Sophia…" Carol began, tears forming in her eyes. She had to take a breath before she was able to continue. "She's been missing for a few days now. Daryl's been looking for her tirelessly, but there's still no sign of her. I'm starting to feel like I'll never get her back." A lone tear streaked down Carol's face, but she wiped it away quickly, trying to put on a brave face.

Torrey reached out and took Carol's hand, wanting to give the woman some form of comfort. "She'll be back in your arms soon enough, hun. What does Daryl look like? I'll go find him and help him look for her. Two people out there searching for your little girl's gotta be a lot better than just one, right?" She tried to give Carol a reassuring smile, but Carol didn't seem to notice.

"You don't have to go to the trouble. You don't know me, and you're not a part of this group."

"It would be no trouble. I may not be a part of your group, but survivors should stick together, especially when a child's gone missing. And to be honest, this nomadic lifestyle has been pretty hard on my friends and I. I'm going to talk to Rick and see if he'd be willing to let us join you guys. My case would be a lot stronger if I could make myself useful."

Carol met Torrey's eyes once more, her expression unreadable. Eventually she nodded. "Daryl has shirt, light brown hair that's somewhat shaggy. He carries a crossbow, and today he's wearing a russet colored sleeveless, button-up shirt, and gray pants. He went into the woods toward the back side of the house about half an hour ago."

"I'm going to grab my gear, and then I'll head out in that same direction and meet up with him, alright?" Torrey gave Carol's shoulder a gentle squeeze when Carol gave her a cautious smile, and then left the woman to her work to go tell her friends.

She found Ricardo and Monica with Maggie and the two men from before. Not wanting to intrude on the conversation, she flagged her friends down, and they excused themselves to go see her.

"What's going on?" Monica asked when she got to Torrey's side.

"Carol's daughter has been missing for a few days. Some guy named Daryl is out in the woods looking for her right now. I'm going to gear up and go find him, so that I can help him search for her, too. You'll be fine here, right?"

"'Course we'll be alright." Ricardo rolled his eyes. "Maggie, Glenn, and T-Dogg over there asked if we could help them get a walker out of a well, anyway, so we'll be busy for a while."

Torrey cocked an eyebrow, wondering just how a walker had managed to get in a well in the first place, then shook her head; that wasn't important now. "Okay, good. I'll be back before nightfall." Then she hugged both of her compatriots before sprinting back into the house to grab her machete.


	4. Collide

**Chapter 4: Collide**

"Do you wanna take one of the horses out?" Maggie approached Torrey as she bounded down the steps of the farm house, and turned to go around the back.

"No, that's alright. A horse might rile something up in those woods. It'll be easier for me to find Daryl if I'm on foot anyway. Thanks, though." Torrey smiled for good measure, giving her friends a jerky wave before sprinting into the area of the forest that Carol had earlier pointed out.

The air filled her lungs as she ran, and for the first time in a long time Torrey felt free. She wasn't running because she was being chased, or because she needed to get in and out of some run-down store quickly, and that made the pumping of her legs and the soft burn that flowed through her muscles just that much more enjoyable.

Eventually she slowed to a gentle jog, her head swiveling slowly in all directions to look for signs of Daryl. While she searched for him, she vaguely wondered what he was like. Was he nice? Was he funny? Was he handsome, or did he just pass for decent? What color were his eyes? How did he hold his crossbow? Most importantly, how would he react to her?

Torrey could hear a creek somewhere nearby, and decided her best bet would be to search around there. If she were Sophia she'd have stayed close to an easy source of water. As she got closer to the sound of the water a sharp shout of anger and surprise filled the air. She darted in the direction of the cry, but had to stop abruptly as she was met with the edge of a steep cliff. She peered over the edge, and there was a man in the same shirt and pants that Carol had described Daryl in that morning.

Torrey judged the drop, gauging how far the fall was as opposed to how much water was in the area where Daryl had landed. She stared at the cliff face, searching for hand and footholds in the rock's surface, but she had to admit that there weren't nearly as many as she would need to climb down safely.

Daryl cried out in pain, and Torrey could see the arrow protruding from his side; she had to get down there, and fast. She was just about to lower herself down the cliff face and take her chances with the few hand and footholds when two walkers came shuffling toward Daryl, hunger in their eyes.

"Shit." She muttered under her breath. She would have to jump, no matter what; it was the only way she could get to Daryl in time. She leapt off the cliff, feet first, and tried to recall what her father had taught her about surviving a jump off of a two-story building. You had to bend your knees slightly, as if you were still crouched to spring, and land on the balls of your feet, then fall forward and roll out. If you hit the ground wrong you could break a toe, maybe even an ankle, but if your only option was to leap from a building, anyway, then a broken bone or two was probably better than whatever you were facing. This fall looked to be a lot more than just two-stories, though.

Time seemed to slow as she fell, and she had plenty of time to position her feet properly to hit the creek bed. As soon as her boots hit the squishy earth below the water she dropped her body weight, pushing her head underwater and using her shoulder to roll up onto one knee. As she pushed her body back up with her shoulder, she unsheathed her machete. Incidentally, she came up in the perfect position to take a walker's head off with the blade. As she was turning back to face Daryl she heard the telltale sound of a bolt being shot from his crossbow, and the second walker fell with a sharp splash into the water just as her and Daryl's eyes locked.

Torrey's eyes widened slightly; Daryl wasn't just handsome, he was gorgeous. His face was dusty, and there were dirt splotches covering almost every inch of his exposed skin, but that didn't hinder his appearance the way it would have with someone else. His eyes were the pure blue of a summer sky, and parts of his goatee had spread to his cheeks in miniscule patches. His jawline was perfectly angled, his cheekbones high, but still soft in contrast with his cheeks. His light brown hair was sticking in every direction, even though it was practically soaking wet, and there was pain etched in his features.

Without a moment's hesitation, Torrey sloshed her way over to Daryl and knelt beside him. "You're Daryl, right?"

"Who wants ta know?" Daryl grumbled, his breath hitching slightly.

Torrey ignored his sarcastic remark. "My name's Torrey. I came out to help look for Sophia. Carol told me what you looked like, so I've been trying to find you."

At the mention of Sophia Daryl's body went rigid, and he glared at the redhead. "Don't need no one's help, Red. M'just fine on my own."

Torrey snorted, trying to stifle a laugh.

"Mind tellin' me what's so funny there, ginger?" Daryl scowled, which somehow made him look even cuter.

"You've got an arrow jutting out of your side and blood running down your face, and you're telling me you're just fine." Torrey smirked when Daryl looked away from her.

Daryl shoved Torrey aside as he slowly got to his feet. "Ain't nothin' a Dixon can't handle. I've had worse, anyhow." He inhaled sharply as he made a move to pull the arrow from his side, a hissed curse slipping through his lips.

"Here, let me help you." Torrey stood beside Daryl and reached around to grab the tip of the bolt.

Daryl dodged her hand, smacking her arm away. "Said I don't need help." He was panting, and had to take a breath after every few words.

"Like hell you don't." Torrey firmly grabbed his wrist as he tried to move away from her once more, pulling him closer to her. "I'm going to help you, and that's final."

Their eyes locked, a death glare staring match, neither one relenting. Maybe it was just because she was so stubborn and forceful, or maybe it was the fact that her eyes were the beautiful, bright green of grass in springtime, but he finally relented and shifted so that his side was closer to her.

Torrey smiled triumphantly as she set to work. She pulled out her switchblade from her pocket, cutting around where the arrow had already torn through his shirt. Under the russet button-up he was wearing lay a once-white undershirt. The bolt had torn the undershirt enough that Torrey didn't have to cut it. Gently, she unbuttoned his overshirt and slid it from his shoulders, laying it across her own for later.

"If you've got something to bite down on, get it between your teeth now." Torrey said matter-of-factly.

"Don't got nothin', but it don't matter. Just git the damn thing out a'ready." Daryl huffed, and Torrey couldn't help but roll her eyes at his annoyed expression.

She wrapped her fingers firmly around the bolt's shaft, and began to slide it out of Daryl's side. His first scream of pain quickly turned into a long string of curses, which didn't subside until long after she'd managed to get the arrow all the way out. Torrey washed the blood from the arrow and placed it with the others on his crossbow, before tearing his shirt in half, turning it into one long strip of fabric.

"Just need to get a tourniquet over that wound, then you should be fine." She mumbled as she tied the fabric tightly in place on Daryl's body. Blood pulsed through the shirt, but didn't soak all the way through, so she figured the makeshift tourniquet would be fine for a little while.

"Well, thanks." Daryl grumbled, not much gratitude.

"You're welcome." Torrey replied, her tone equally as clipped. She gave him a quick once over to make sure he was alright, when her eyes lit on a rip in the thigh of his pants with blood seeping through it. "What happened to your leg?"

Daryl glanced down, just as surprised as she was to see the wound. "Well I'll be. Musta hit a rock when I fell. Didn't even notice that 'til now."

"We'll need to get another tourniquet on that."

"What? Nah, it's just a scratch."

Torrey shook her head and deftly removed her shirt, standing in front of Daryl in just her black lace bra, the only one she'd managed to salvage after the apocalypse; she thanked her lucky stars that she was actually wearing it today.

"What're you doin'?!" Daryl shouted at her, his eyes growing wide with confusion. A light flush of pink colored his cheeks and he quickly looked away from Torrey's smooth skin.

"I'm going to cut my shirt to use as a tourniquet for your leg. It's just a precaution, Daryl, so please don't make a fuss about it." Torrey looked at him, her green eyes locking on his once again, and for the second time since he'd met her he couldn't say no to her.

Daryl shook his head as she cut her shirt and tightened it into a suitable wrap on his leg.

Torrey smiled to herself and patted Daryl's shoulder. "See, that's not so bad, right?"

Daryl merely nodded before turning in a circle, trying to figure out a way back to the part of the woods he'd been in before he'd fallen. "May as well get back ta camp now. Ain't gonna be any good out here now that I'm all injured."

Torrey nodded, and followed him as he continued to search for a way back.


	5. Bulletproof

**Chapter 5: Bulletproof**

It soon became apparent that the only way to get back to their original path and their camp would be to climb up some part of the cliff. Daryl found an incline with a few roots, a tree, some patches of grass, and loose hand and footholds spread over its face.

"Prolly the best way up we'll find." He stared up the cliff with a grimace; this was going to take all of his strength, especially with a stab wound in his side and a gash in his leg.

"Sure you can manage?" Torrey raised one eyebrow, taking in his condition.

"Ain't got much of a choice now, do I?" Daryl raised his good leg onto the hill, tightly gripping two small handholds, and pulled himself into a climbing position. He winced as a shockwave of pain ran through his side, but continued on, making his way up little by little.

At first Torrey had to go up behind him, but soon the incline widened enough to let them both climb up at the same time. After only a few minutes she had passed him, and she had to stifle a giggle at the thrill of competition that flashed in his blue eyes.

"Shut it, Merle. She just came to help is all." Daryl muttered under his breath.

"What'd you say?" Torrey glanced back at him, looking a little concerned.

Daryl gave a slight shake of his head. "Nothin'."

Torrey could tell something was wrong, but she wasn't about to pry.

They were almost to the top when the root Daryl had been grabbing pulled free of the cliff. "Shit!" He shouted, scrambling to find another hold, but he lost his grip entirely. He was just about to fall and roll all the way back down that damn incline when Torrey's hand shot out, quick as a viper, and grabbed his wrist tightly. She was lucky enough to be on the side with one of the trees stuck in the rock, and she was dangling from the branch, her torso in the air, her feet just barely straddling the cliff, trying to pull Daryl back to safety. Her green eyes sparked with fear, and you could practically hear her internal monologue begging 'please don't let my grip slip; please don't let him drop.'

Daryl made a mental note to thank the redhead in some way, and managed to grab a handhold next to him and regain his footing.

Eventually they pulled themselves onto the solid ground of the forest, both of them out of breath. Torrey laid on her back on a soft patch of grass and ferns under the shade of a medium-sized tree, not even caring that her breasts were probably starting to spill out of her bra. Daryl, feeling uncomfortable with that situation, sat with his back to her.

"Thanks, by the way." Daryl glanced over his shoulder, trying to focus on those eyes that matched the woods around them instead of the girl's overly-exposed, cream-colored flesh.

Torrey grinned, either not noticing or not caring how awkward this moment was for Daryl, and patted his shoulder lightly. "Only saved your ass because I didn't have any more clothes to make tourniquets out of." She laughed then, her voice like wind chimes, and Daryl could help but chuckle with her.

The trek back to camp was long, and made all the more difficult because of Daryl's injuries. His energy began to flag at about the halfway point, and Torrey had to wrap her arm tightly around his waist to keep him steady. Daryl complained about weighing her down, insisting he didn't need her help, but reluctantly draped his arm across her shoulders.

If Torrey was being honest, she didn't mind half-carrying Daryl back to camp, because it meant she could be closer to his toned body. Figures that she'd only get this much action after the world had gone to hell.

They finally broke the tree line, wading into the grassland. Torrey could make out the RV from Rick's group, and could just barely see people milling around beside it.

A few of the group members started jogging toward where Torrey and Daryl were, presumably to make sure they were alright. Torrey was just about to wave to them when the sound of a bullet hitting flesh sounded in her ears. Daryl's weight went dead in her arms, his body pulling her down with him to the ground. She managed to catch him and right herself just before he hit the grass.

Rick and Shane skidded to a stop in front of the pair, their eyes wide with shock at the sight before them.

"What happened?" Rick asked.

"Long story. Whoever's shooting over there got Daryl, and I think it's pretty serious. We need to get him some help right now." Torrey struggled to lug Daryl's body towards the house, and Shane, finally realizing the severity of the situation, lifted Daryl's other side to help get him to Hershel.

Rick ran ahead to alert Hershel to what was going on while Shane and Torrey dragged Daryl toward the house, earning odd stares from the rest of the group.

When they finally deposited Daryl into a bed so that Hershel could check on him, and everyone else was asked to leave, Torrey walked outside almost in a daze. She longed to stay in that room and make sure that Daryl was still alive, since she was almost certain that bullet had hit his head.

Torrey registered Monica and Ricardo standing on the outskirts of Rick's group area, and made a beeline for them. She needed their comfort at that moment more than anything.

When Torrey made her way to her friends Carol came over and silently handed her a shirt. For a moment Torrey wondered why Carol had thought a shirt would make things better, but then she remembered she was still clad in only a bra and jeans, and took the garment gratefully.

"Didn't know you could still be a prostitute during an apocalypse." Ricardo smirked, making a snide comment, as always.

"What happened to you two?" Monica raised her eyebrows at the redhead, giving them a slight wiggle.

Torrey huffed and shook her head before delving into her story. "I heard the creek nearby where I was looking for Daryl, and then I heard someone shouting, so I ran in the direction of the voice, and was met with the edge of a cliff. When I looked over the edge Daryl was lying in the creek with an arrow stuck in his side, and two walkers were creeping up on him pretty fast. So I jumped off the cliff, landed in the water, took a walker out, and helped him get the arrow out of his side. I had to make a tourniquet out of his shirt to keep his side from bleeding too much, but then noticed that he also had a pretty deep gash on his leg. Only thing left was my shirt, so I used that to wrap up his leg. We had to climb back up a different portion of the cliff to make it to our original path, and then we slowly made our way back here. Someone shot him, and I think it hit him in the head, but I can't be too sure." The words rushed out of the redhead like a waterfall, but once she started talking she couldn't stop.

Her friends stared at her incredulously, trying to process everything she'd just told them.

"Sounds exciting." Monica mumbled.

"Yeah. Totally exhilarating."


	6. The Night Ain't Over

**Chapter 6: The Night Ain't Over**

Daryl turned as much as he could toward the knock that sounded on the slightly ajar door to see Torrey standing there, in a green tank top that matched her eyes, and faded denim shorts. The dim light from the hall spilled over her red hair, setting it glowing like dying embers.

"Mind if I join you for a minute?" She asked softly, starting to creep into the room, though he hadn't yet answered.

Daryl waved a hand in her direction, a silent invitation, and covered himself with the blankets once more.

Torrey walked around the bed to the one chair that had been placed on the other side, near the curtain-covered window, and took a seat. She didn't settle in, merely perched on the edge.

For a moment they just stared awkwardly at one another, until finally Daryl had had enough. "What'd you come by for?"

"Just wanted to see how you were doing. Feeling alright?" Torrey's eyes shifted to the bandage wrapped around Daryl's forehead, and her stomach clenched at the memory of why that gauze was there.

"Been better." He mumbled, resting his cheek on the pillows. Torrey couldn't help but smile at how cute he looked cuddled in the blankets.

Torrey nodded, not sure of what else to say to him. Of course, being tongue tied by how attractive he was didn't help any.

Another knock sounded on the door, and both Torrey and Daryl turned to look at who it was now. Carol was standing there, a tray of food in her hands. She entered when Daryl laid his head down again, and placed the tray on his bedside table.

"I brought you some dinner. Me and some of the other girls cooked for everyone, and I didn't want you to be left out." Carol stood there hesitantly, toying with the hem of her shirt, as if trying to make a difficult decision. Finally, she made her choice; she leaned forward and placed a light kiss to Daryl's bandaged forehead.

As she was about to kiss him, he flinched. It was barely noticeable, unless you were close to him, like Carol was, or staring at the scene, like Torrey was, but it was there just the same. A subtle clenching of the eyes, the shifting of a shoulder and arm upwards, as if to protect his face, and then he relaxed as her lips met his skin.

In that moment Torrey wanted nothing more than to protect him, not just now, but for the rest of their, presumably short, lives. Not that he needed her help, of course, but she was determined to keep him safe, in any way that she could, regardless.

Torrey barely registered what Carol and Daryl were saying, until Carol was about to leave. "You're every bit as good as them. Every bit." Carol spoke in a whisper, but there was depth to her words all the same, and the questioning look that flashed in Daryl's eyes was heartbreaking. He didn't realize just what an asset he was to their group, or just how much they all cared for him, and seeing that was depressing.

Daryl met Torrey's eyes once more, embarrassment crossing his face. Torrey smiled reassuringly, letting him know he shouldn't feel awkward around her.

"She's right, you know. You're just as good as everyone here, maybe more so. You're an asset." As Torrey rose to leave she placed her hand on Daryl's shoulder. Another slight flinch, but she didn't pull back; she squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, and let her fingers trail down his arm. His skin was warm, full of hope and life.

When she removed her hand, Daryl grumbled something she couldn't understand, and pulled the blankets over his body. Torrey turned back to look at him one last time, and stifled a giggle at how pink his ears were.

"Goodnight, Daryl."

"The night ain't over." Daryl grumbled into the pillows.

The last thing he heard before the door closed was Torrey's soft wind-chime laugh.


	7. Up All Night

**Chapter 7: Living After Midnight**

"So what's the deal with you and the redneck?" Ricardo asked as he stretched out on the queen-sized bed in the room Torrey's group had been granted permission to use by Hershel. He had always done that, even before the apocalypse; taken up all possible space on a mattress so that everyone else would either be forced into a cramped position, or would have to move is ass.

Torrey kicked his leg with the heel of her bare foot. "His name's Daryl, and I just helped him get out of a sticky situation. What do you expect to be happening between us when we just met about twelve hours ago?" There was a comfy armchair in this particular room, and that was where Torrey perched at the moment, bringing her legs up and folding them under herself.

"Yeah, but when you two got back to camp you were shirtless." Monica chimed in from where she sat cross-legged on the floor beside the window.

"I already explained that to you guys." Torrey huffed and closed her eyes, feeling like she was in the middle of some kind of middle-school sleepover-style interrogation. "An arrow got stuck in his side when he fell, so we pulled the thing out and made a tourniquet with his shirt over the wound. Then I saw his thigh had a pretty big gash in it, so I made another tourniquet using my own shirt. I was doing the right thing, okay?"

Monica shrugged and stared out the window, her eyes fixed on the full moon that shone so brightly over the farm.

"Then why did you go visit him after dinner?" Ricardo asked, an impish smirk playing at his lips.

"I wanted to make sure he was alright. He did have some pretty serious injuries, and this isn't exactly a hospital, in case you didn't notice. Plus I figured he might be hungry after the trek back here that we had to deal with earlier today." Torrey brought her knees up to her chest, hiding her blushing cheeks behind them.

"Do you like him, though? I mean, you had to notice how attractive he is." Monica spoke softly, continuing to look out the window rather than make eye contact with the redhead.

Torrey thought a moment before she answered. She hadn't known Daryl for very long, not even a full day, really, but he had seemed like an alright guy before, even though he was in pain and having to deal with a side wound, leg wound, and headshot. At this point it should be nothing more than an acquaintance-ship, at most, since all Torrey had really done was help him patch up his wounds and get back to camp safely. But then why had she felt a pang of jealousy when Carol had kissed his forehead earlier? Torrey was thinking of kissing his cheek or forehead before leaving, but she couldn't because Carol had beaten her to the punch. And why should that even have registered to her? Sophia was Carol's daughter who had gone missing, and Daryl had gotten injured out there by the creek because he'd been searching for the girl, so of course Carol should have shown him some kind of gratitude. But she'd brought him dinner, also, and wouldn't that and a simple pat on the arm have been enough?

"Sure, he's attractive," Torrey finally began. "And he seems nice enough, if not rough around the edges, but I don't really know him all that well yet. He might even be in a relationship with Carol. I guess maybe with time we could become friends, and after that something more, but right now all I can hope for is a mutual respect for one another." She spoke in a tone that said the matter was closed, and thankfully no more questions were asked.

Ricardo had already fallen asleep, taking up almost every inch of space on the mattress. Monica gave Torrey a questioning look, nodding toward the bed, and Torrey helped her move the little shit over a bit so that Monica would have enough room to sleep beside him. Torrey stayed in that armchair for a good portion of the night, simply watching her friends sleep, and thinking about Daryl.


	8. Little Moments

**Chapter 8: Little Moments**

It was too many hours to count before the sun rose, and Torrey had been awake for all of them. Every time she tried to close her eyes, Daryl's sky blue windows to the soul floated behind her lids, and they soon faded outward until his face was in plain view in her mind; after that the replays of the afternoon came on, and she shuddered every time she was forced to relive the bullet hitting his forehead, and the way he dropped to the ground in her arms, nearly dead weight.

No matter how hard she tried she couldn't seem to get him out of her mind. They weren't even friends, barely acquaintances, but there was some otherworldy pull she felt to him. Maybe it was the way his blue eyes, sharp even through his obvious pain, had looked pointedly into her green ones rather than rove over her half-naked torso, a gentlemanly gesture she'd never have expected from him. Maybe it was his gruff nature, his one-man-show attitude that drew her in, or the fact that she found his sarcastic undercuts funny, a trait she admired in Ricardo, even though he was more like a brother to her. Maybe it was just the fact that she'd had the chance to help him, see him vulnerable in a way that, she assumed, no one else had before.

She contemplated all of those different possibilities a hundred times over before the sun broke over the fields, and her friends rose for the morning. She only snapped out of her reverie because she knew she'd need her mind clear to function through the day.

Ricardo woke first, stretching and rubbing his eyes with a yawn as he looked over at Torrey. "You been up all night?" He asked, raising one eyebrow at her.

"Yeah, I was just too wound up to sleep. Plus the moon and the stars shine brighter out here than they did in California; I couldn't help but stare at them for a long while." Torrey smiled, shaking out her fiery red hair. Her thoughts of the mysterious redneck would have to wait until later that night; it was time to start another day in the apocalypse.

Torrey poked her head into Daryl's tent, watching him poke holes in part of the netting with one of his bolts for a moment before speaking. "Good morning."

Daryl turned just enough to look at her, giving her a nod as greeting. She took that as allowance to enter, and moved in to perch on a milk crate beside his cot.

"Came to see how you were doing. Feeling alright?" Torrey's eyes wandered over the parts of him that she could see, trying to check for any signs of infection or other serious issue.

"Been better." Daryl mumbled, suddenly focusing intently on the arrow between his fingers.

Torrey nodded, unsure of what to say now. Daryl didn't speak either, waiting for her, but she couldn't seem to make her throat push out words. The two sat in awkward silence, not even looking at each other, or at least not directly.

"Well, I'm going to head out with Rick and the others to look for Sophia, see if we can follow the creek and find a place where she could be hiding. If you need anything, my friends are staying around the camp, and they can get in touch with me."

Daryl's eyes flickered to Torrey's, the obvious question burning in them, but still he said nothing.

"We have a set of walkies." Torrey answered anyway, feeling like she needed to explain herself. "I keep one with me at all times, and either Ricardo or Monica holds onto the other, just in case we get separated. They work up to about five miles out, and I doubt I'd be able to wander that far." She smirked slightly, her dry joke falling about as flat as his unwashed hair; unwashed or no she still had an odd urge to run her fingers lightly through the strands.

Daryl ducked his chin once, as a sort of acceptance, flipping the bolt around his fingers. Torrey watched the movement, almost fascinated by how easily he toyed with the arrow, making it wind around his fingers as if it were a part of him.

Something about his motions were disquieting, and without really thinking about what she was doing, she reached over and clasped one of his hands gently in her own. She had to lean forward to do so, and her butt was nearly off the crate, her emerald green tank top falling too low for Daryl's comfort, but she didn't care. He looked at her, raising one eyebrow in confusion, but didn't pull away from her grip, which she took as a good sign.

"I want you to know that I think how much you searched for Sophia is quite commendable. I don't know that any of us would have had the strength to make it back to camp in your condition yesterday, with or without help." She paused here, a grin playing on her lips. "Well, except me, of course."

Daryl's lips twitched slightly, and she caught the vaguest hint of a smile on his face; definitely a good sign.

"I heard what Carol said yesterday, about you being every bit as good as the Rick and Shane. She's right, you know. I don't know the story, and I'm not going to pry into your life, but whatever reasons you have for not feeling worthy… just know that they aren't true, because you're a great human being, Daryl. I had plenty of years where I felt like the most worthless piece of shit on the planet, but my friends, those two people that came here with me, they've been with me through thick and thin, even before this whole nightmare started, and the fact that they're still willing to follow me to the ends of the earth shows me that maybe I have some redeeming qualities after all. It's the same for you, babe."

There was more silence then, and Torrey could see Daryl contemplating everything she'd said. She didn't expect him to say anything, or even know what to say to that in the first place, so she squeezed his hand once more before rising to leave. She had pulled the tent flap back, and was just about to step out into the sunshine, when he spoke.

"Torrey?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful."


End file.
